


Knights and Peasants

by AliciaMarie43



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Steve Rogers, Fluff, High School AU, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 10:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5371172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliciaMarie43/pseuds/AliciaMarie43
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is a social outcast at his school with not many friends and gets used to people using him as a punching bag because of something he can't control. When Bucky Barnes, the quarterback of the football team, starts becoming his friend, Steve has some choices to make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knights and Peasants

**Author's Note:**

> Minor use of a slur toward the LGTBQA+ community from a minor character. It's used once and not again. There's some homophobia in there too towards a main character.

Steve was walking through the hallways, his head down, hoping to avoid detection from any number of people who liked to push him out of the way when Gail Earnest came barreling his way through a group of cowering freshmen. Steve kept his gaze down his blond hair in his face, hoping he’d be spared just this once but Gail made a beeline his way with a wicked grin on his face.

    “Hey faggot,” he said shouldering Steve into the locker. He had his art supplies in his backpack, the paint brushes pushed into his spine from the assault. Gail was face to face with him, Steve’s shirt wrapped in his fist.

    “Get a breath mint,” said Steve, no ounce of self-preservation at all.

    Gail laughed, a wild thing with his eyes wide. “You think you’re funny, faggot?”

    Steve wanted to tell him not to call him that but then he felt a fist in his gut and he couldn’t breath. Gail was laughing and by then a few of his friends had come to watch the confrontation, their phones out, flashing in the florescent lights. Steve was smacked around a few more times, now on the ground, his hands around his head to keep himself safe, but then everything was quiet except for the ringing in his ears. The bell had rung and most people were walking away, their shoes squeaking on the floor.

Someone was helping him to his feet, their hands under his arms. “Are you ok,” the person asked.

Steve looked up;  if he wasn’t pale before he knew he was now. It was Bucky Barnes, the quarterback of the football team. He was big, muscular and Steve assumed he wanted to punch him himself. "Yeah, I had him on the ropes. Obviously."

He pulled himself away from Bucky and curling his stiff hands  around the straps of his pack. His voice was softer than he wanted it to be, but it was steady.

    “You’re bleeding,” said Bucky, and before Steve could protest to Bucky touching him again Bucky was taking him into the bathroom, steering him by the elbow.

    A million and one scenarios came colliding into Steve’s head and each one was worse than the last. Bucky opened the door and they went in together.

    It wasn’t what Steve had expected. He blushed when Bucky tapped the counter, signaling for him to sit there, but he pushed himself up without a word. Bucky moved in front of Steve, his hips against Steve’s knees, until Steve moved his knees farther apart to let Bucky closer. Bucky wet a paper towel wad and dabbed at his face, his eyes only looking at Steve’s injury.

    “Hey, listen. Don’t worry about Gail. He’s an ass. I’ll take care of it.”

    “Why are you being nice to me,” asked Steve. He hadn’t meant to ask that even if he did want the answer. It was obvious, of course, but he wanted to hear Bucky say it. He didn’t want Bucky’s pity but he was getting excess amounts at the moment.

    Bucky seemed confused. “Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?”

    Steve didn’t answer, instead he let Bucky finish wiping the blood off his face. What could he say to that? If he said no one was nice to him he’d sound like he was a perpetual loser and even if that was somewhat true, he didn’t need to broadcast that to the most popular guy in school.

When he was done Bucky patted Steve’s knee, said goodbye, told him not to worry about Gail again and then let the door shut behind him.

    It was a couple hours later before Steve saw Bucky again. It was the only class they had together, and just like every day Steve sat in the back, away from everyone else. It was harder to hear the muttering people sometimes did under their breath when he was around them. Back here there was a nice perimeter around his desk, like a bubble. When Bucky entered the room he was surrounded by his football friends, all of them big and intimidating, talking loudly about so and so. But when Bucky saw Steve in the back he smiled and shuffled his way to the empty desk next to him.

    “I didn’t know you were in this class,” said Bucky flinging his bag to the floor and folding his legs under the too small desk.

    It wasn’t surprising that Bucky hadn’t noticed him before now. Steve could count how many times Bucky had been to this class on one hand this semester alone. Not to mention that Steve seemed to be the same shade of off white as the cinder block walls.  “Yeah, I’m pretty easy to miss.”

    Bucky frowned, “Well, maybe if you looked up more instead of hiding behind a notebook...” He trailed off at the end. Steve let his notebook fall closed, crossed his arms and then looked up into Bucky’s blue eyes. He felt his cheeks heat up.

    “See, so much better.”

    “Right.”

    Bucky looked like he was going to start talking to him but Steve looked away when the teacher entered the room, almost immediately launching into a well rehearsed rendition of The Salem Witch Trials that Steve had heard a million times. He was trying to avoid catching Bucky’s eye but every few seconds Steve’s eyes would travel over to him and a few times he caught Bucky staring back, a little smile going across his face when he noticed Steve. It was a little weird to have someone actually see him. He was normally the most invisible guy in the room. He was a chameleon, able to blend in with the wallpaper.

    When the bell rang, Steve and Bucky stood up at the same time and their hands brushed. Steve yanked his away and then bolted to the hallway. He heard someone say his name but he ignored it. It was easy to disappear into the crowd and lose his way in the maze that was the hallways and not have anyone stop him to chat. The only positive in having so few friends, no one stopped to ask him where he was going.  

    He walked into the bathroom, the same from earlier in the day and splashed cold water on his face. He needed to get a grip on himself, the mirror was cracked, making his face look like a Van Gogh painting. He was running his hands through his hair when Bucky came through the door.

    “I saw you come in here. Are you ok? You look sick,” he said.

    Bucky and Steve stared at each other for a moment in silence, Steve looking for something sinister in Bucky’s face. Bucky was standing with his hands in his pockets, his wide shoulders almost as wide as the doorway. Steve cleared his throat.

    “What do you want,” asked Steve.

    Bucky took a moment to answer and it seemed like he was weighing his words carefully. “To be friends?” He phrased it like a question.

    “Why?”

    “Does it matter?”

    Steve supposed it didn’t.

    The next morning Bucky was leaning against Steve’s locker like he had been doing this for as long as they both could remember instead of for the first time. Steve didn’t say anything to him, just opened his locker and started filling his backpack.

“Are you getting breakfast,” asked Bucky.

“I always get breakfast,” said Steve, still not looking at him. It was too weird to see this person just casually standing next to him like it was normal.

“Do you mind if I go with you,” asked Bucky.

“Sure,” said Steve.

They didn’t talk on their way to the cafeteria but once they left with milk and bagels, Bucky kept up a constant stream of what football was doing and which team they needed to beat to make it the finals. How Steve should come to the game on Saturday.

“Me and my mom do stuff together on Saturday and I don’t think she’s really into football,” said Steve. He hoped that that wasn’t too much information.

Bucky nodded, “What do you guys do?”

So Steve told him and that sparked Bucky to ask a bunch of questions that Steve didn’t think mattered but Bucky wanted the answers. About everything, it seemed to Steve. The questioning ended at the beginning of first period but picked back up once the class was over.

“Do you have any siblings,” he asked Steve.

“No,” said Steve. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” said Bucky, “But I haven’t seen her since she went to college. She kind of just fell off the map.”

“Where does she go?”

“Florida State. I’m trying to go there next year. Try and find her.”

Their conversation was cut off again at the ping of the warning bell. Steve waved and went to class thinking how this became his life.

The next few weeks the two of them got into a kind of routine. In the morning they’d stand in line for breakfast together and talk about anything that had happened while they were apart the night before. Then Bucky would walk Steve to class and be there after class, leaning casually against the lockers like this wasn’t a new thing between them. Later they’d sit together at lunch. Steve liked having someone to talk to, someone who treated him like he was normal or at least a slight variation of normal.

    Bucky never asked him about it either, which was new and comforting. It was like it didn’t matter. Except it did, and Steve knew that’s why Bucky never asked to hang out after school. He didn’t want Steve to get the wrong idea, even though Steve would never even consider it. They were two spheres that did not touch.

    “What are you thinking about,” asked Bucky in the middle of their shared class.

    “Nothing really.”

    “Mr. Barnes, do you have something to share with the class?” asked the teacher.

    “No, sorry,” said Bucky before turning back to Steve. He didn’t say anything at first. He ruffled his hair, on the verge of speech.

    “Stop looking at me,” said Steve and for the moment Bucky turned away, facing his notebook and writing in his chicken scratch handwriting. The teacher continued to eye them from the front as she droned on about some boring 17th century problem.

    “You only scrunch your eyebrows when you’re thinking of something important so spill,” Bucky finally said leaning on his elbow and putting his pen down. The teacher had her back turned.

    That tiny observation startled Steve. Normally, no one got close enough to notice anything about him, especially not something so insignificant.

    Steve let out a breath, “Why don’t we hang out after school?” It was such a petty question because Steve shouldn’t care. He should be happy that he’s gotten this much from Bucky. He shouldn’t be wanting more  because what he has is already too much. But Bucky weighed the question like it wasn’t completely ridiculous.

    “It’s not that easy, Steve,” he answered after a moment. There was something in his eyes that Steve couldn’t place but it seemed sad, broken somehow.

    “It seems that easy for everyone else.” But he wasn’t like everyone else, and he knew that. Most of the students here knew that. He was sure Bucky knew that too.

    Bucky pondered that for a moment. Steve was preparing for rejection, not just of himself but of Bucky’s friendship. “Do you wanna do homework together? You could stay for dinner.”

    Steve wanted to say yes, but he didn’t want Bucky to ask him over because that’s what Steve wanted. He wanted Bucky to want it too.

    “Stop being difficult and say yes,” laughed Bucky.

    That afternoon the two of them walked the two blocks to Bucky’s house. It was a one story, two bedroom brick house that was on the corner with a big tree to separate them from their neighbors. It had a birdbath under the window and flowers by the porch.

    Bucky walked up the path leading to the door and opened in, ushering Steve in after him.

    “Mom, I’m home. I brought a friend.”

    They kicked their shoes off as Bucky’s mom came into the hallway. She was skinny and tired looking, the corners of her eyes pointing down giving her a permanently depressed look. She took Bucky’s backpack from him and then set it on the chair in the hall. Steve put his next to the chair on the floor.

    “Hi, I’m Mrs. Barnes.”  
   

     “Steve.”

    “Nice to meet you, Steve. Buck, you’re dad will be home by six. Don’t forget.” Her eyes were wide, not a reminder but a warning, her body stiff at the mention of the man.

Bucky nodded and then showed Steve to his bedroom. “Wanna play a game,” Bucky asked throwing him an Xbox controller.

Steve just shrugged and sat down next to him on his bed. Bucky leaned down to turn the console on, the logo flashing on the TV.

“I’ve never played,” said Steve.

“You’ve never played Call of Duty? That should be a crime,” said Bucky. He started explaining the point of the game, how it worked but even knowing all of that Steve wasn’t doing so well.

“You suck,” said Bucky. Steve didn’t mind, he wasn’t making fun just laughing at Steve’s poor reflexes. He wasn’t exactly a gamer like Bucky seemed to be but just being with someone outside of school was welcoming. “What do you do since you don’t play video games?”

“I draw,” said Steve.

“Really? That’s really cool. Can I see?”

Steve never let anyone but the art teacher and sometimes his mom see his drawings. He wasn’t sure that he wanted Bucky to see them, not because he had drawings of Bucky in there but because he didn’t think he was much good, even with his teacher’s praise and also because he had a few sketches of Bucky’s face in there.  

“I don’t know,” said Steve, “I’m not very good.”

Bucky laughed, “I’ve seen stuff you’ve done. We had art together last semester and you were the best in that class.”

Steve sighed, resigned to the fact that Bucky probably wouldn’t drop it. “If I suck at drawing just lie, yeah?”

    “Yeah. Backpack?”

    “Yeah, front pocket.”

    Bucky jumped up, his bedroom door closing behind him leaving Steve in his room alone, the game paused. It was a small room but nice, with large windows that let the sun in. The carpet was an off white with a stain or two from what looked like juice. There was glow in the dark stars on his ceiling and a few posters of NFL players tacked to the wall.

    Steve didn’t hear Bucky come back.

    “Wow, these are really good,” said Bucky coming in. He sat on the bed, the notebook that Steve kept his drawings in open. Steve hadn’t expected Bucky to open it without him so panic at what he was looking at increased. Steve knew when Bucky got to the page that had his face on it, because his eyebrows scrunched and he looked up.

    “This is me,” said Bucky.

    “Yeah, I’m sorry.”

    “It’s really good.” He took a moment to look again at the drawing. “When did you do this?”

    “Nowhere, particular. Just around, I guess.”

    “Well, if you ever needed someone to pose for you…” he trailed off at the end, looking back down at the mirror image of his face.

    That wasn’t the response Steve had been expecting. “Ok, yeah,” was all he said. Bucky closed the notebook and put it on his bed as his mom yelled from the kitchen that dinner was ready.

Spaghetti. Steve wasn’t a fan but he took a polite portion and told himself that it wouldn’t kill him to eat these noodles. They were stringy, and too chewy in his mouth, something he was sure was intentional but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything when Mrs. Barnes asked how it was.

“So, Steve, what do your parents do?” asked Mrs. Barnes. She was making eye contact, something Steve wasn’t used to, her eyes the same intense shade of blue as Bucky's. Most of the time people tended to look right past him, or over him completely.   

“My mom works as a phlebotomist.” He would take any excuse to not put this stuff in his mouth.

    “Really, that’s interesting.” She went back to eating but she smiled at him. She twirled her fork in the noodles.

    Steve didn’t think so.

“And your dad,” she asked.

“Oh,” said Steve, “Well, he was in the military. But he died.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Mrs. Barnes. She looked away from him, back to her plate.

Bucky looked at him from across the table. “You never told me.”

“You never asked.”

They lapsed into friendly silence but then the door slammed open. Steve could hear the glass by the door rattle from where he sat. He heard someone stomping their feet on the hall carpet, the sound of a jacket being taken off. Whoever it was was breathing deeply, like they had run a long way.

    “Shit,” whispered Bucky.

    Mrs. Barnes grabbed Steve’s plate and whisked it away before he could ask what was happening and Bucky was pulling his arm but no one was fast enough. Mr. Barnes was already entering the room and when he saw Bucky with his hand on Steve’s arm his face got red. He seemed to grow right before Steve’s eyes, bigger and redder, taking up more space than he thought possible.

    “Steve, honey, it’s time to go,” said Mrs. Barnes with a little squeak of a voice.

    Bucky let go and let his mother lead Steve to the door. She had a sorry look on her face and when the door closed he could just barely hear Mr. Barnes.

    “I thought I beat that unnaturalness out of you?”

    Steve didn’t listen for the rest of it. He ran. He ran the mile home.

The next day Steve waited in their usual spot by his locker but Bucky never showed up and with a lump in the back of his throat, Steve shuffled off to his first class long after the bell rang.

    He didn’t see Bucky at lunch or in fourth period and by then he was worried. He even considered asking a few of the football players if they had seen him but decided he wouldn’t push his luck. He stopped in the bathroom between classes and saw a familiar pair of sneakers before he saw Bucky. He could hear the occasional sniffle coming from Bucky but his back was facing him.

    “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” said Steve, his voice echoing off the walls but Bucky didn’t turn around. Bucky didn’t answer. “Bucky?”

    When Bucky faced him, it was worse than Steve imagined. Bucky’s nose was swollen and his eyes were black. His lip was cut. His eyes were red like he had been crying and Steve couldn’t say he blamed him.

    Neither one of them said anything, but the tears that Bucky had been holding back spilled and Steve hugged him. They sat on the bathroom floor for the hour, Steve’s skinny arms trying to hold Bucky’s bulk, until the crying had turned into sniffles. Steve found himself humming and running his fingers through Bucky’s hair, things his own mother used to do for him when he was upset.

    “Do you remember when you asked why I wanted to be friends,” asked Bucky, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, and Steve, for the first time, realized how tired Bucky looked.

    “Yeah?”

    “It was because I was too scared to ask you to be anything else.”

    Steve wasn’t sure what he meant, but he didn’t care. He just let the comment hang there. But it didn’t hang forever because then Bucky was coming closer, closer than Steve expected. He wanted this. If he was being honest he had wanted this for a long time but never thought he’d get it. Bucky was still easing his way forward, his eyes closed and Steve knew, he knew Bucky was giving him time to reject him if he wanted. He didn’t want to. He could count every freckle on the bridge of Bucky’s nose. Bucky’s lips touched his. They were wet from his tears and puffy from where he was hit, but they were soft too. Bucky tasted like peppermint and ice.

    Steve pulled away, “What?” He was confused, sure he didn’t mind Bucky behaving like this but Steve wouldn’t be able to bare it if this ended up being a joke.

    “I thought--,” said Bucky.

    “I mean, yeah, but you’re not,” said Steve. “Are you?”

    Bucky answered by kissing him again, this time longer, steadier and altogether drier than the last one. After they pulled away, they sat on the floor for a moment, Bucky trying to get himself together.

    Once they left the bathroom, neither one of them mentioned it. The only thing that changed between them was that sometimes Bucky would squeeze Steve’s hand before letting it go, pretending it didn’t happen but leaving Steve feeling like he had done something right for once. Steve watched the bruises heal on Bucky’s face. It was warming up, turning to summer and Bucky was quieter, less willing to talk about anything. Not even the new Sci Fi movie he had been so excited about before the accident. Steve knew he was thinking about something and hoped that whatever it was, Bucky would talk to him about it soon.

    “Bucky, are you okay,” asked Steve a week before exams were set to start. They were in the library during their free period, Bucky's face hidden in his textbook, his eyes glancing up every other second as Steve sat across from drawing.

    “I got accepted to Florida State,” said Bucky not looking at him. It wasn’t the answer Steve had expected and from the look on Bucky’s face it wasn’t the one he had planned to give. But it was there.

    “Congratulations.” But even to himself it sounded fake.

    “I just can’t stay here anymore, Steve.”

    “I understand.” And he did. He really did, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. He’d be stuck here, in the cold, buried in the snow while his only friend was in the land of the sun or something like that. He’d be forgotten and be invisible again. It wasn’t a happy feeling.

The end of the year came along with graduation, and Steve saw less and less of Bucky. Steve had the idea that maybe they’d take pictures together before in their cap and gown but Bucky didn’t reach out. When Steve had arrived at the venue, he saw Bucky leaning against the wall with his football buddies but also, away from them, his body turned away.

“Hi, Buck,” said Steve. He felt very small standing here with all these people. Bucky smiled at him, a forced tiny thing.

“Hi,” he said. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm," said Steve, "graduating too?"

Bucky seemed a little startled as he remembered where he was. "Right."

“I just wanted to say hi, I guess.” Steve walked away. He stood in line order waiting for the ceremony to begin, for the music that would lead them out to start.

Bucky would glance at him from a few rows away and smile, sharing a recent history between them but Steve could see none of it reached his eyes. Steve supposed there’d be other boys in college, boys who were like him. Boys who weren’t afraid anymore about what people would do or say, but he didn’t blame Bucky for being scared. He’d be too with a dad like that. Steve supposed he could’ve had a dad like that, but he wasn’t sure. He had never told his dad or his mother for that matter and then he had died, and Steve hadn’t needed to worry about it.

When the ceremony was over Steve found his mom sitting with a few of her friends waiting for him. She said goodbye and stood ready to hug him. She pulled him in, his head just barely able to rest against her hair.

“Who’s this,” asked his mom. Steve turned around and saw Bucky coming over, quickly, his parents not that far away, Mrs. Barnes talking to Mr. Barnes, his back toward Bucky.

“Bucky, what are you doing?”

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I haven’t been very friendly lately. I’ve just had a lot going on.”

“It’s okay,” said Steve but it wasn’t. He ached to do something for Bucky. To get him away, entertaining the thought of telling his mom but he knew that as soon as Bucky turned 18 he’d be gone and safe.

Bucky clapped his hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezed, so much more said in that action than in his words.

   

It was July, the hottest night of the year, when he heard his mom open the screen door downstairs. Steve was sitting at his desk, drawing the backyard from his window. He could hear her voice and a husky one mingling together, twisting up the stairs and into his room. There was muffled talking and laughter, then she was yelling up to Steve telling him he had a visitor. Steve knew there was only one person who would be here this late, so he skipped down the stairs and stepped out into the porchlight. The moths were already dancing around, buzzing and the grasshoppers were chirping away.

    Bucky was standing on his porch, no longer wearing his football jacket, his tan arms were exposed, his hands in his pockets. A nervous habit. He was scuffing his feet against the wood and then looked up when he heard Steve lean against the door frame.

    “Wanna go for a walk,” asked Bucky.

    Steve nodded, “Sure, let me grab some shoes.” He wasn’t sure where this was going. He was afraid of the destination, but it was a trip he needed to take, so he slipped his shoes on and followed Bucky down his broken cement steps.

    They walked around the block, just their breathing making noises, the occasional dog barking bouncing on the concrete and away from them. Steve kept looking at the stars, hoping maybe something would happen. Bucky didn’t say anything until they had walked a few blocks away. He was worrying his bottom lip, his hands deep in his pockets, before he turned to face Steve.

    “I want you to come to Florida with me,” he said. He pushed the words out like he was afraid he’d never have the courage to say it.

    “Wait, what?”

    “Come to Florida with me,” said Bucky, slower this time.

    “I don’t understand.”

    “We can be together, and start over. We can be down there.”

    Steve was looking at Bucky, looking for some sign of a joke, but there was none. So why was he still afraid this was just some giant prank? Why were his hands sweaty and his heart thumping in his chest? Bucky waited for his answer but Steve couldn’t find his voice.

    Bucky put his hands on the sides of Steve’s face and kissed him, not like in the bathroom. This one was sure and strong like Bucky knew exactly what he was doing. “You always think too much.”

    Steve found himself leaning into Bucky, his lips finding Bucky’s again as they stood under the only working street light on this street. He pulled away, not that he wanted to, but it was easier to think when he couldn’t feel Bucky’s breath on his face. Bucky didn’t let him go too far, his arm still around Steve’s shoulders.  

    “I can’t just go with you to Florida,” said Steve after a moment.

    “Sure, you can,” said Bucky, “why wouldn’t you be able to.” He seemed honestly confused.

    “I don’t know. Money, for one,” said Steve. It was too confusing, especially with the open invitation to keep kissing Bucky hanging between them. One minute Bucky was pushing him out and now he was asking him to go with him.

    “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, Steve. I want you to come, really, I do,” he said.

    “Is this why you’ve been so distant?” This was easier. To ask instead of answer.

    “You’re changing the subject,” said Bucky.

    “Because this is ridiculous, don’t you see that?”

    Bucky frowned, “What do you mean?”

    Steve pulled out of Bucky’s embrace, not touching except their hands. “Bucky, I can’t just leave my mom. She’s all alone.” That wasn’t strictly true, at all. She had plenty of friends, more than Steve had anyway.

    “With the stories you tell about your mother, she’ll be fine. Now stop thinking of excuses and answer this: do you want to go?”

    “Yeah,” Steve whispered.

    “Then come with me,” he said, “I care about you, Steve. I’m not going anywhere if that’s what you’re worried about. This is what I want.”

    “I’m just,” he started, “frightened.”

    “So am I. But we can do that together, down there.”

Bucky looked at him for a moment, not saying anything, crossing his arms around his chest, his blue eyes too intense, waiting for Steve to say something. Steve felt colder without Bucky touching him.“Steve, look at me.”  

Steve looked up, not having realized he had looked away.

“Just think about it, yeah? I leave the day after tomorrow.” He pushed a train ticket into Steve’s hand. It was just a piece of paper but it felt like a brick. He put it in his pocket and Bucky turned to go back toward home.

It was a quiet walk, a long walk. Steve wished he could bridge the distance between them and reach out for Bucky, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Steve could feel Bucky’s eyes on him but he faced forward, only daring to look at him when he was sure the other was looking away. Steve could feel his throat close over what had just happened, the idea that he’d accept Bucky’s offer and Bucky had not been serious or worse, change his mind. His throat felt too tight, his tongue felt like carpet.  His eyes were watering because it was getting hard to breath. Steve didn’t want this to happen but his body wasn’t giving him a choice. The thought of losing his friend was too scary to think about. He wouldn’t go back to what it had been like before.

“Buck,” he breathed stopping in the street. Bucky’s eyes widened once he turned around.

“Steve?” He said, “Are you okay?”

“I can’t,” Steve gasped, “Breath.”

It was a full out panic attack at this point. He could feel his face tingle as oxygen refused to make its way into his lungs. His knees were shaking and Bucky pulled him down onto the curb, his arms around Steve’s chest. Bucky’s chest was pushed up against Steve’s back.

“Try and breath with me,” said Bucky.

Steve wanted to look at him and say he was trying to breath but that wasn’t going to happen. He just sat there, thinking about how he could die, right now. Lack of oxygen could take a toll and he could have brain damage. Bucky would leave him then. He thought of this being the last time he saw Bucky.

Steve could hear Bucky speaking to him but it was a soft hum and his gasping was a loud roar. It was tethering him to the street, letting him know that he wasn’t alone but the thoughts in his head and the fear that he couldn’t breath was all too much until he started actively listening to what Bucky was saying. He was in mid sentence.

“...standing there all shy. And I remember thinking that if I could just talk to you maybe everything would be okay,” he said. “What do you need me to do, Steve?”

He took deep, timed breaths between speaking and Steve could feel his own heartbeat go down, the sensation of something holding him together calming him down. He pulled Bucky’s arms firmer around him, Bucky taking the cue.

 Bucky didn’t say anything else, just let the sound of gasping to tie them together, the only sound between them except for Bucky’s frequent humming. Eventually, Steve’s breathing was even to Bucky’s, his face wasn’t twitching and he had the feeling that he wanted Bucky away from him. Far away from him but also wanted him so much closer.  

They stayed like that for a moment, making sure the episode had passed completely. Bucky was running his fingers through Steve’s hair, and from what Steve could hear, Bucky was saying Steve’s name.

“I’m sorry,” said Steve. He felt small, smaller than he already was compared to Bucky.

“For what,” asked Bucky. He didn’t push Steve away but he was leaning back into the grass, his legs still on either side Steve’s own.

“Being a mess.” Steve ran his hand through his hair, leaned onto his elbows and sighed.

Bucky pushed Steve’s hair out of his face. “You’re not a mess and you have nothing to be sorry for.”

He stood up, held his hand out for Steve to grab and helped him up. He didn’t take his hand back once Steve was steady on his feet, but kept it there, their fingers entwined the rest of the walk home. But it was quiet again, the conversation about Florida back into the present, pressing them both for an answer of some sort.

Bucky’s blue eyes were scrunched like he wanted to say something else. Steve wanted to say something too but the words wouldn’t come and it just didn’t seem like the right time.

    “I’m not making any promises, Bucky,” he said as they stood on the porch, the moths circling around their heads.

    “I know.”

    Steve closed the door between them, the click of the lock too permanent. Bucky’s shadow disappeared off the porch and his footsteps faded away.

“I love you,” Steve whispered, testing the word but they just hung there for no one to hear.

“Isn’t today the day Bucky’s leaving,” his mother said while she was cooking an early dinner. Her hair was the same shade of blond as Steve’s. She had an apron on that Steve had made her when he was young.

It was sunny and it was hurting his eyes, because it was definitely the sun making his eyes water. He had a pounding headache and wanted to think of anything but Bucky.

“Face Off is on tonight,” he said.

His mother just put the spatula down and looked at him. Her eyes were too blue, too similar to his, Steve looked down, anywhere but at her.

“Yeah, I know. Steve, are you sure you thought this through?” He glanced back toward her to see that she was again consumed with dinner, not noticing the shock in his face.

“What are you trying to say?”

“Well, I saw the way he looked at you.” Her eyes flashed in the sunlight, landing on his face again. The kind of look only mothers make, that make you feel guilty about everything you’ve ever done.

“That’s how friendship works. You look at each other.”

“That’s not what I meant, Steve, and you know it.” She paused for a moment, turned around completely, and leaned against the counter. “I don’t know if you know, but I have always known. Mothers know these things about their kids. I’m not saying he’s the one, sweetie, but the only man that looked at me that way was your father. That’s all I’m going to say.”

It was a bit of a shock that his mother just knew that about him and he was bombarded with thoughts of what he did to give that away so easily. Once his mind caught up with the conversation though, he had a different question in mind.

“So, you’re saying I should just drop everything and go?”

“Well, no. I expect you to go to school and write to your poor mother.” She patted his cheek before kissing him on the forehead.

Steve laughed and kissed her cheek but then his face fell. “I don’t have anyway to get there in time.”

“One day you will learn that I always think ahead.” She pulled a duffle out from under the counter, prepacked with his clothes, like she knew he’d change his mind. She tossed it at him before grabbing the car keys off the hook by the door, and turning the stove off.

“But, mom--”

“Steve. Sweets, listen. This feeling, that only comes around once maybe twice. Don’t let him go because you’re afraid of someone you don’t even know saying something that doesn’t matter.”

“Ok,” he said. “Then let’s go.”

She unlocked the car, put the duffel in the trunk and got in, twisting the key in the ignition.

“What if I’m too late?” His mother didn’t answer, just continued to drive down the street toward the train station.

    It was a silent car ride, the radio on and crackling with poor connection. His mom didn’t even park, just dropped him off at the door.

“Call me,” she said, “when you get there.” When you get with him, was left unsaid.

He nodded and entered the bustling building filled with people wall to wall. It was too big and crowded and took him a moment before he found his platform. The platform was the largest one in the place, but he could tell that Bucky wasn’t here, hoping that he was already inside, his ticket punched and waiting for him. Steve’s heart was pounding in his chest like it was going to flop out onto the floor.  

He flashed his own ticket, the worker taking it and going too slow, making Steve feel ansty. What if this was the wrong train? It wasn’t because he was handed back his ticket, hole punched and directed to the right. The railcar was full of business people standing to put their luggage in the rack above them, parents getting children seated and people going on holiday.

Steve pulled his bag along behind him, looking for something familiar and finally he saw him. Seated just at the front, his dark hair visible over his seat.

“Can I sit here,” he asked and he vowed he’d make that smile light up Bucky’s face as long as Bucky would let him. **  
**


End file.
